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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27856437">Stories</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/euclidsEfinder/pseuds/euclidsEfinder'>euclidsEfinder</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, Fallout Bang 2020, Gen, Nuclear Family</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:55:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27856437</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/euclidsEfinder/pseuds/euclidsEfinder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>My contribution to the Fallout Mini-Bang for 2020!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Slivers of light flitter in through the open Megaton door, a cool breeze jingling the small glass lights strung up above the town. It’s pleasantly chilled, just cool enough that you don’t feel the need to put on extra layers, and just warm enough that you don’t need to take any off. Lone sits on the pre-war seat, a well-loved story book spread across his lap, Dogmeat curled up beside his feet. </p><p> </p><p>Charon steps in through the door, blocking the sun from Lone’s view, and the young man jumps, looks up in fear. The boy’s still not used to living with someone, not yet, anyway, and the thought of someone just stalking their way unannounced into his house frightens him. </p><p>‘I received the equipment you requested,’ Charon states. Lone nods, smiles apprehensively, and gestures to the seat beside him. Charon makes no move to sit and Lone’s smile wavers before dropping entirely. He fiddles with the yellowed page of his book and his eyes travel to the carpet on the worn floor, teeth worrying his bottom lip.</p><p>‘Was, um...h-how was Moira?’ Lone’s attempt at small talk makes even Charon wince, though not outwardly, and he steps towards the small table in front of the seats to place the equipment down. It’s a suit made of thin, brown material, with metal bolts and clasps attached (though just barely). It’s heavily weathered and worn with age and radiation, and loose bits of wire pool haphazardly around it.</p><p>‘She was fine,’ Charon replies, mechanically clipped. He stands just beside the table, eyes cast towards the locker just in front of him, arms at his sides (never behind his back, not unless he’s being commanded. To have your arms behind your back is to show submission, and Charon isn’t about to slacken). Lone nods, stutters out a ‘T-that’s good, then’. His eyes remain on the ghoul and Charon is about to ask if he needs something when Lone suddenly closes his book and turns to face him fully.</p><p>‘Please s-sit down. I just want you to, um...t-to relax.’ It’s almost comical, the way the brave Lone Wanderer seems almost hesitant in his ability to command, to order, no matter how damn small that order is. Charon rolls his shoulders, flexes his hands, and nods, once.</p><p>‘If that is what you wish.’ Charon understands it’s not the reply the boy wants, but he knows that if he were to go against the request, or simply ignore it, then he would be violating the terms of his contract. Lone’s face falls somewhat and his ears burn a light pink as he turns back to his book. Dogmeat’s ears prick up and he watches Charon as he sits beside his employer - he knows better than to bark, though, having long-since gotten used to the scent of the ghoul.</p><p> </p><p>Lone clears his throat and Charon turns his head almost imperceptibly towards the young man. Lone squirms under the ghoul’s gaze, but his eyes remain glued to the book.</p><p> </p><p>‘Is it okay if I, uh...i-if I read to you?’ he whispers, eyes gently shifting to watch the ghoul’s reaction. Charon says nothing, doesn’t move, so Lone blunders ahead. The young man flips to the start of the book, and gives a small, preemptive cough, tongue swiping briefly across his chapped lips.</p><p>‘I-in the town there were two m-mutes, and they were always together. Early every m-morning they would come out from—from the house where they lived and walk arm in arm down the s-street to work. The two friends w-were very different. The one who always s-steered the way was an obese and dreamy Greek. In the summer he w-would come out wearing a yellow or green polo shirt s-s—no wait, hold on, s-sorry—’ There’s a beat of silence, and Lone cuts himself off when he hears Charon grunt under his breath. If he were human, it would have been nigh impossible to hear, but, being a ghoul, the grunt sounded loud and gravelly, almost insulting.</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m s-sorry, it’s just that I didn’t—I haven’t really n-needed to read like this since the Vault.’ It’s apologetic, nervous and self-conscious, and Charon, for a brief, fleeting moment, feels something akin to sympathy for the boy. </p><p>Charon doesn’t know what makes the boy so petrified. It’s not that the young man doesn’t have anything to worry about, quite the opposite, it’s that he has too much to worry about. Charon knows he worries about his father, worries about maintaining his image, worries about the blurred line between right and wrong which he occasionally - though accidentally - crosses, worries about food and water and people and home and him. </p><p>‘It is okay,’ Charon replies. Something flickers behind Lone’s gaze, tears already forming in the corners of his eyes, and he sniffs before wiping his palm against the corner of his mouth; a nervous gesture Charon has become accustomed to.</p><p>Lone swallows, ‘S-sorry.’ Charon nods, though it’s more out of obligation than anything like politeness or understanding, and he hesitates before reaching for the book. Lone flinches automatically, curling inwards on himself and recoiling from the foreign touch.</p><p>Charon attempts to make his voice as soft as possible, though it still comes out as somewhat of a growl, when he says ‘I will read for you, if that is what you wish.’ Lone looks up, eyes wide, and swallows, clutching the book to his chest.</p><p>‘R-really?’ His voice is soft and small and oh-so scared and Charon almost regrets offering because he just knows that the kid will ask again. Not that he would hate it, he’s long lost the ability to feel so strongly about something, but it would just become a chore (though, even saying that, he feels a pang of something he can only call “guilt”).</p><p> </p><p>But Charon simply nods, regardless. So be it. If the kid wants reading to, then Charon will oblige.</p><p>Lone’s face brightens significantly (though Charon can still see the tension behind his watery eyes), and he passes Charon the book with eager hands. Dogmeat whines and stretches, before padding over to the ghoul and resting his chin on the man’s knee. Charon doesn’t move, though his hand twitches (out of wanting to strike or pet the dog, he doesn’t know) before gripping the book and flicking to where Lone cut himself off.</p><p>There’s a cool breeze that whips its way into the living room and Lone shivers slightly, brown curls bobbing as he shakes his head. Charon chuckles softly and dogmeat licks him on the leg, drool dripping from his small jowls. There’s a small, orangy glow that flutters around the room like a pre-war butterfly, and the colour illuminates Lone’s hair in a sort of halo, swirling around his head, glowing and incandescent. Charon thinks it almost poetic, that the Last, Best Hope for Humanity’s hair being surrounded by golden rays that shimmer and seem to dance around his boyish, unblemished face. </p><p>He clears his throat, and begins to read.</p>
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